


Or Forever Hold Your Peace

by tintern_abbey (lyricalballads)



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: F/M, One-Sided Attraction, Post-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27113227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalballads/pseuds/tintern_abbey
Summary: New York's sun hit him in the face, but Skittery didn't bother to shield himself from it. He was alone at last; alone with the horrible, sudden realization that sometime in the last three years he had inexplicably fallen for Sarah Jacobs.
Relationships: Sarah Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Sarah Jacobs/Skittery (Newsies)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Or Forever Hold Your Peace

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on fanfiction.net on 09/26/2011 and is based on the 1992 movie.

Skittery knew it was bound to happen sooner or later. Jack and Sarah getting hitched.

The two of them had their share of falling-outs over the last three years, but they always ended up back in each other's company like they had never parted at all. And now here was Sarah, pouring Skittery a glass of champagne while a ring sparkled on her finger like starlight.

As perfect as a goddamn poem.

But as Skittery stood there in the Jacobs' sitting room, dressed in his shabby best with a stubborn patch of stubble that refused to fade from his chin, he felt downright odd. More than odd; kind of _angry._ Not because he wasn't best man—hell, they all _knew_ Jack would pick David—and not because Race stood a couple of feet away, yakking about the swell bookkeeping job he'd landed down at the track. It wasn't Crutchy, who came hobbling in ten minutes ago and knocked over a pitcher of ice with his crutch, and it wasn't Blink, who was making an ass of himself showing off his new eye patch to anyone who would listen.

Perhaps it had something to do with how pretty Sarah looked as she prepared refreshments for those who had gathered to celebrate her engagement. Perhaps it was the perfect afternoon weather, Jack's laughter across the room, and that shiny, sparkly ring; that beautiful ring that Skittery couldn't stop staring at as Sarah poured the champagne.

"Thanks." Skittery's voice came out gruff as he accepted the glass Sarah handed him, and he couldn't help feeling so angry—at Sarah, at Jack, at everyone in the room.

He needed to get out of there.

"Skitts! Hey, Skitts!" Race had finished yakking to Mush and attached himself to Skittery, waving a fat cigar in his hand. "I gotta tell you this joke I heard from a fella down at the track. It'll knock your lousy socks off, I promise."

"Not now, Race," said Skittery.

He couldn't shove that ring from his mind. That damn ring sparkling on her damn finger while she poured the damn champagne, taunting him.

He needed air.

Skittery brushed past Specs and Crutchy, trying not to knock off their respective props that served as their namesakes, and headed for the nearest window, glass of champagne still clutched in his hand. He downed the glass in two quick gulps, then set it down—it didn't matter where—and climbed out onto the fire escape.

New York's sun hit him in the face, but Skittery didn't bother to shield himself from it. He was alone at last; alone with the horrible, sudden realization that sometime in the last three years he had inexplicably fallen for Sarah Jacobs.

He always did have rotten luck, but this was the worst. Having to wear a mask, like some clown in a vaudeville show, and congratulate Jack when all he really wanted to do was throttle him like—

"Skittery?"

Sarah's voice floated through the window, startling him. Of _all_ the people to seek him out.

"I saw you leave," she said, and suddenly she was on the fire escape with him, much too close. "Is everything all right?"

"I'm fine," Skittery muttered. Her presence brought a thousand flaws to his attention. He wished he had done a better job shaving that morning. Kept his nails a little cleaner, didn't smoke so much, and worked a better job so he could afford some fancier clothes. He did nothing but wish, wish, wish, and where did that ever get him?

Sarah's eyes flicked from his face to the city below, back to his face again. "Perhaps I'm being forward, but you don't appear fine to me."

"Congratulations," said Skittery, sounding gruff again as he ignored her statement. "Hope you and Jack are real happy."

"But are _you_ happy?"

Her question caught him off guard. "What's it matter? 'Course I'm happy. Just _look_ at me."

" _Skittery_ ," said Sarah. She didn't need to say anymore.

And that was when Skittery leaned in, not caring if her lips were touched by Jack every night. He didn't think anyone inside the apartment could see them, but he wasn't sure and didn't care much about _that_ either. No, the one thing Skittery did care about was that awful ring encircling Sarah's finger, mocking him while he stole the smallest pleasure, and he wished he could pull it from her finger and cast it into the dingy street below.

But there he went with the wishing again.

Sarah broke the kiss, blushing everywhere as she pulled away, and Skittery knew he deserved to get thrown off the fire escape. "Skittery," she repeated, but this time she sounded confused.

"Forget about it," Skittery grumbled, shoving his hands into his shabby pockets. "I wasn't thinking straight."

"I—I should go back inside," said Sarah.

Back to Jack was what she meant. Skittery turned from her and fished a cigarette out of his pocket, indicating that their encounter—or whatever it was—had ended.

As he lit up his cigarette, he heard Sarah retreat into the apartment. But he didn't turn his head to look back at her. He couldn't— _wouldn't_ —look back at her, and settled instead for smoking on the fire escape while her image teased his memory. When he shut his eyes against the sun, he could see her, like she was still standing right beside him. Soft pink lips, brown hair all done up in ribbons, and that troublesome ring glinting at Skittery, mocking him, _tormenting_ him.

What was so great about Jack Kelly, anyway?

Was he _really_ so special, once you looked past his role in the strike?

Sure, he had that handsome mug, and enough charm to choke a horse, but Jack wasn't that different from Skittery when it came down to the basics. Jack was no _better_ than Skittery, no matter how charming he could be, but Jack had Sarah and Skittery had nothing but a cheap cigarette dangling from his fingers.

_Speak now_ , Skittery thought bleakly, _or forever hold your fucking peace._

He clamped his lips around the cigarette and took another drag.


End file.
